Moriarty and Moran: A Day at the Beach
by Shay Weaver
Summary: Post Reichenbach: Jim is BORED! There's nothing to do. Quick oneshot to fulfill a fangirl fantasy. Slight mormor but only if you really, really squint. Intended one sided James/Sebastian more of an ACD canon relationship .


James was _bored_. It was nice to get away from London for a while, but this was just too much relaxation. After that stunt he pulled on the roof of St. Bart's, he couldn't really stay around in the British limelight and he couldn't blend in either. Blending in was _boring_. Now that Sherlock was dead, James was searching for the meaning of life again. What would he do with all of his time?

He lay back on the lounge chair, closed his eyes, and tried to relax, listening to the rhythmic crash and lull of the pristine Caribbean coast. The gentle sway of palm trees above him painted swirling patterns on the inside of his eyelids and he could feel the heat reflecting upwards from the snow-white expanse of beach around him.

"Gah!" He sat up in annoyance. This was so _BORING_. How did the peasants enjoy this? Were they truly so simple as to derive pleasure from nothing at all? He looked out over the turquoise waves with their alabaster peaks and, shading his eyes from the afternoon glare, found the figure of Moran atop his stupid surfboard gliding along the water.

Typical. Sebastian was definitely one of the simple ones. While James valued the brute force and hands-on expertise of his lieutenant, he was easily annoyed by the soldier's puppy-like devotion and obsession with him. It was nice to have a cohort one could trust to finish the job, any job, but did he really have to follow James to the Caribbean? Doubtless it was out of some sort of 'loyalty' or 'love,' but James didn't have time for those kinds of emotions. He was perpetually and completely consumed by his flight from boredom.

Who would he play with now? Sherlock was the greatest opponent Moriarty had ever faced, and the consulting detective had very nearly won their little game. But in the end, even that amusement was fleeting. It was disappointing really. There was no mind like his and if Sherlock had lived, their conflict would have been the stuff of legend. Children would have grown up hearing about Holmes and Moriarty and parents would warn their children that Moriarty would get them if they didn't eat their vegetables. But that was all gone now.

Perhaps he could move to another city and find another man worthy to be called his nemesis. He could put out his feelers and string his web, patiently waiting for the vibration on one, two, four, twelve of his strings signaling the arrival of this foil to his saber. But no, he was never one for waiting when there was no end in sight. If only Sherlock had been a bit more brilliant! If only he could have figured some way out! Of course, Jim knew he couldn't have, he had laid the trap too cleverly for that. Stupid Sherlock Holmes.

As he sat brooding over Sherlock's selfish death, Sebastian had finished surfing and gone back up the beach to the house. When he returned, he carried a hefty chair in one hand, and two bottles of beer in the other. Looped around one of his pinkies was the trigger guard of a tiny Sig. It was this gun-laden hand that silently offered him a cold drink. Jim scowled and popped the top off the bottle while Sebastian settled himself and his chair in the sand. This was wretched stuff. What he wouldn't give for an expensive port. That what he got, he supposed, when he let Moran buy groceries in an uncharacteristic fit of laziness.

For a while, the two just sat there in silence. James was thinking of contacts he had in other cities. If he couldn't find a nemesis, at least he could get of this damned beach and take over the world's crime. That's something he supposed. Sebastian simply sat and seemed to relax in the sun. James looked at his companion askance and then leaned back and closed his eyes as well. Simple.

"I hear Gotham is busy." Jim jumped at the sudden voice. He turned to see Moran staring at him intently. "There may be trouble with one fellow though, he calls himself 'Joker' and seems to have a hand in most of the crime. The authorities have trouble containing him."

"Of _course_, they do." Jim replied settling back into his chair, "the great minds are never civil servants." Jim closed his eyes and was silent for a while. Without opening his eyes, Jim asked, "When is the next flight to Gotham?"

Sebastian smiled thinking of the packed bags and plane tickets just inside the front door. "Tonight."


End file.
